One Hundred
by load my soul
Summary: Derek Stiles has been murdered, Tyler's become mysterious and Naomi's trying to unravel a mystery. Chapters 4 through 8 up now. Mostly set in the "Team" era. DxA, TxL, NxLG. 100 shorts for 100 themes. Themes are mostly out of order.
1. Words

Well, hello everyone! Been a while! First up, this short is about Naomi. It's featured in the Trauma Team timeline. Nothing canonical, of course. Pure fiction right here. Though, this would be crazy sad.

These fics take no course of a timeline... nor am I doing them in any particular order. I'm posting theme number 80 first. lol. I hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

The ringtone would go off. That was how she could tell if it was actually a call. If the music didn't play, then...

The familiar vibrations would chill her to the bone. But it had become such a regular occurrence that it was starting not to bother her anymore. Being around the dead for so long could make a person cold. Desensitized. Though, she still sympathized somewhat with the victims and their families.

Who had the right to cut someone's life short? What kind of person could sever that all important thread? Figuring out the truth was why she was in forensics. Telling the stories of the dead was her job. If she didn't speak for them… who would? **No one**. The dead told no tales. The truth never died.

Ringtone. It was Little Guy. He was on his way. He wanted to speak with her directly. She rolled her eyes, why this couldn't be done over the phone was beyond her. He _didn't want to tie up her line_. Who called her other than the- _…oh_. That must have been it. She frowned.

She waited, clutching her silver phone tightly in her fist as she sat in silence at her desk.

A knock. Little Guy. Just as he stepped into the room and took a seat, the ominous vibrating began. No ringtone. Little Guy merely stared.

"You going to pick that up…?" he asked, idly playing with the pen in his hands. Reluctantly, she flipped open her phone and waited for the words.

For the first time in months, the words made her blood run cold.

"_Oh god. It hurts. It's broken. T-This isn't good… I can't move. I've got… I've got nowhere to run. They're going to find me._" a pause, she knew this voice. The owner of this voice had gone missing two weeks prior. There was a bit of breathless rambling. A gunshot. A cry of agony. "_Angie, I'm sorry. I tried… I couldn't make it back to you…_"

Static. The call had ended, her case had just begun.

She closed her phone. Little Guy waited patiently.

"…Who are we investigating…?" she asked, glaring in his general direction.

"We found the body of Derek Stiles in a ditch outside of Northridge. He was murdered." Little Guy's response was quiet. He could feel the room become tense.

"…That's why you came here. To tell me in person? His body is in the evidence room, yes?" The blonde nodded silently. She made her way into the room, Little Guy in tow. She stared at the surgeon's lifeless, broken body.

Silence. She slipped on her gloves.

"Dr. Kimishima, I'll leave the details on your desk. Witness accounts are on the recorder." He slipped out of the room. Glancing down at the body, she sighed deeply.

"Derek Stiles, show me how your flame was put out."


	2. No Way Out

Hey there! Thought I'd continue on the same murderous note as last time. I know I said the stories wouldn't stick to a specific time line or anything, but... I couldn't help this one. Or the next one which I'll post soon. This one is about Derek. Sooo... here we go. Theme 59. "No Way Out".

* * *

_No Way Out_

He felt sick. Where was his inhaler? Oh, he'd fumbled with it when he'd heard the gunshots. It had to have been a few hundred yards back.

His eyes hurt. He hadn't seen the light of the sun in a while. A long while. He was lucky he'd escaped from the center with his glasses. They were broken; he'd have to get a new pair when he made it into town.

_When._ He was hopeful.

His feet stung. They were sticky with blood, but he ignored them. If it meant getting back to _her_, he would gladly trek barefoot over any terrain.

He was running. Dodging trees. His lungs burned with every breath. He had to keep going. He would get to safety. Angeles Bay was not too far. Northridge was not too far. He was almost home free!

He'd been abducted, he couldn't remember how long ago. He didn't have time to think of that. More gunshots. They were closer. He came to rest behind a tree. They were behind him. He couldn't run anymore. He was too tired. He closed his eyes.

And saw _her _image on the back of his eyelids. How could he give up when he had someone to go back to?

"…I won't give up," he muttered softly, "I'm _not_ going to die. Not now. Not like this." He silently wished for his inhaler as he pushed himself to his feet and willed himself to run.

Barking.

Dogs? Really? Were _dogs_ necessary? He quickly glanced back – bad idea; there was a Doberman behind him. An angry, bloodthirsty Doberman. The dog, with vicious sharp teeth exposed, lunged for the man's leg. He let out a scream as he sidestepped, barely managing to dodge it's teeth. His right foot slipped and he tumbled down a rocky cliff.

Barely conscious, he mumbled to himself, "Oh god. It hurts. It's broken." He couldn't move. Something was wrong. He couldn't feel his legs. He clawed desperately at the ground, trying to keep moving. "T-This isn't good… I can't move. I've got… I've got nowhere to run. They're going to find me." He closed his eyes. The dogs and voices were getting closer. He heard footsteps. He rambled nervously, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head yelling at him to take his inhaler… what good would it do him?

"I hate to have to do this to you… but I've got no other options," Derek knew that voice. He felt sick. He wanted it to be any other person. Why? He opened his mouth to try and ask questions, but a round hit him square in the chest. He let out a sharp cry of agony. Grasping at the wound in his chest, he tried to get a better glance at the shooter. A woman. She quickly hid her gun.

"Angie, I'm sorry. I tried… I couldn't make it back to you…" The man let out a shuddering breath, his hand fell away from his chest.

"_Es tut mir leid_," the woman muttered somberly, "I'm sorry. I couldn't let you lead them to my precious Angie."


	3. Misfortune

Hey guys! I'm back with another one! Okay, so, I lied completely. xD I'm seriously just going to continue with the Derek Stiles murder angle. this is basically a Trauma Team fanfiction now with little Trauma Center flashbacks. Hope no one is too angry, this was just too much fun to leave hanging. Expect the next one to mostly be about Naomi! Please, treat me kindly!

* * *

_Misfortune_

Navel stormed out of Naomi's office in a huff. He was used to – and could keep up with her remarks... but that one had gone a bit too far. She'd stepped over the line.

A walk. He couldn't stay mad forever. He'd blow off some steam, analyze the things she'd asked him to and help her in any way he could.

He passed by the park. Northridge was only a stone's throw away if you trekked through the large space. The crime scene was there.

Little Guy remembered having to question the blonde nurse. _Angie Thompson, _wasn't it? She was so shocked and heartbroken that she could barely testify. Staring down at his shoes as he walked, he bumped into an older woman. A blonde.

"Aah, I'm sorry," Little Guy said, reaching out to catch her before she fell. "Are you alright?"

She looked up, staring into Little Guy's eyes with an awkward interest.

"_Ach, ja. _I'm sorry, I was not looking where I was going." She paused for a while, still glaring straight into the good Agent's eyes. Very aware of her uncomfortable interest in him, he averted his gaze. He recognized her. Every time he and Naomi had gone to the crime scene, they passed through the park. This woman always sat on the bench near the lake to wait for her daughter.

"Are you investigating the _Dirk_ Stiles murder case?" Little Guy stiffened, "I thought so, I see you and the Investigator walk through here nearly every day, _ja_?" He raised an eyebrow. "Are you anywhere near cracking the case?"

"I can't say anything about the case, ma'am," he replied, "I apologize." The woman hung her head,

"I see. I'm sorry, I am just so frightened to know that the murderer is still on the loose, _ja_? The poor doctor was so young. If the murderer is still on the loose, anyone could be next..." The woman began to cry, "I am so worried for my daughter, she walks through this park everyday to go to work." Little Guy frowned, _Ugh. I suppose letting her know we're close to catching the culprit wouldn't hurt._

"Don't be too upset, ma'am, we do have some very good leads," he conceded. "We're pretty close to finding Dr. Stiles' murderer." The woman stiffened.

"You are? How? What did you find?"

He noticed her stepping closer. He paused. She knew that he'd figured it out. Before Little Guy could back away, it hit him. Cold, unforgiving steel had been plunged into him. He watched the woman slink off into the trees and he tried to pursue.

"Wait, come back!" He slipped to the ground, his arm curled around his abdomen. Little Guy reached for the cellphone in his breast pocket. The phone slipped out of his hands and hit the ground, bloodstained pieces of plastic flying every which way.

"Dr. Kimishima..."

* * *

Hahaha, I'm begging you guys, don't kill me. xD I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter is almost complete!


	4. Starvation

This one makes me sad, lol. I'm so twisting everything out of control and I honestly have no idea were I'm going with ANYTHING. I'm totally winging this story, which is why it's taking me so long. Bah.

This is about Derek immediately prior to his death. Theme 79, Starvation. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Derek was on the brink of destruction. Grief and rage had begun to conquer his mind. His captors were breaking him. They kidnapped him. Tortured him, but he refused to speak. They performed _painful_ tests, all the while asking him something about an information chip. **Daily.** The name "_Kenneth Blackwell_" came up numerous times.

Was it the remains of Delphi? Or something more?

Derek's arms and legs were bruised. They felt heavy. He was drugged constantly, barely able to move. His back covered in red marks. They whipped him when – no, _because_ he wouldn't cooperate. And they tortured him with a television. There was no way to turn it off.

The kidnappers had managed to bug his apartment as well as Tyler and Leslie's apartment with little cameras.

There was a counter at the bottom of the screen.

Four weeks. A month.

A **bomb**. Set for three in the morning.

He would have to watch them blow.

He would have to watch them die.

It drove Derek to the brink.

He watched the television carefully, watching Angie's every move, longing for her touch. Wishing he could hold her, even if only for a moment. During one of the many nights she stayed awake and cried, Derek found himself crying with her. Angie talked to him, thinking that he could not hear her. He could, and it drove him mad. He loved her so dearly.

He was starving. He found himself literally eating dirt and paper, trying to stay alive. He was thinning. They were killing him slowly.

It was early morning, the guard came by to escort Derek to his daily "tests". Derek could hardly get up, the guard dragged him.

"Hey, Stiles," he muttered, "I'm _bored."_ He let go of Derek's arms. The weak brunette looked up. "**Run**. I'll give you a head start. Just go that way... and you'll be outside. See if you can get to your precious girl before the bomb goes off. You've got some amount of weeks, buddy. You strong enough to run? You hungry?" Derek stumbled toward the door. "One foot in front of the other, Stiles, there ya go."

"...You're not serious..." Derek was convinced that the man would lunge for him as soon as he started to stumble away.

"Tick-tock, the clock is ticking, Stiles. Do you want to save her or not?" He had to get back to Angie. He had to save her.

He gathered up his courage and what little strength he had left and he ran.


	5. Horror

This makes me sick inside and I honestly have no idea where this came from. D: I hope you enjoy it. Theme 65, **Horror**.

* * *

When Tyler awoke, the other side of the bed was cold. Groggily, he stretched, and muttered his girlfriend's name. He grumbled, feeling his warm foot hit the cold floor. He took the blanket off the bed and draped it around his shoulders.

"Tyler?"

"Leslie?" he replied sleepily, suddenly very aware of muffled sobbing. Tyler's grogginess disappeared in an instant. "Leslie, what's wrong?" He rushed down the hallway, following the noise. Stopping in the doorway as he saw Leslie holding a sobbing Angie. He frowned deeply,

"You have that dream again, Ang?" Tyler asked, taking the blanket off of his shoulders and draping it over Angie's. He sat down next to her, putting an arm around her quivering form. She wrapped her arms around him and cried. "I know, kiddo," he whispered in a comforting tone, "I know." Tyler couldn't blame her for crying. She had every right to cry.

She'd had a strange dream the night before the... _discovery_. She had, in her dream, awoke in her room at Tyler and Leslie's house with a rope in hand. Confused, she followed the rope, leaving her bed, and following it through the house.

The rope lead her to the park. The details of the dream after that were hazy, but she'd managed to find herself in the middle of a dense forest. Angie walked for a brief moment, finally seeing a stationary figure at the foot of a rocky cliff.

She dreamed that she'd found Derek and when she approached him, he gave a simple smile and embraced her, whispering the words, "You found me, Angie, you found me." Angie's arms curled around Derek's unfamiliar, bony form. He was shirtless and warm and he smelled of something vaguely familiar.

He suddenly placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. Derek turned from her, giving a disappointed sigh. "But..."

"But what? I found you! Come home with me, you're safe now!" At this point, Angie was sobbing, she'd grabbed Derek's hand and tried to get him to face her.

"But I'm afraid..." Angie heard the sound of bone cracking as his head cocked to the left at an unnatural angle. He looked up at her with a sickening grin. Blood poured out of a wound in his chest. He seemed to be staring through her. "...that you were **too** **late. **I'm fucking **dead.**" She shook her head, backing away as he singsonged a near jovial, "Sorry!"

The dream ended with Derek collapsing in a heap where he stood.


	6. Broken Pieces

I honestly feel so sorry for Angie and Leslie. I'm making Tyler into such a dark character... haha. Theme 76, _Broken Pieces_, I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

She had asked Naomi not to sugarcoat it, she saw the body as it was. No fancy sheets covering the damage, no. She had to see him, just to prove it was real. But despite looking at the body, Angie Thompson could not wrap her head around it. Looking at the body Derek had left behind was bad enough. He was so broken the funeral would most likely have to be closed casket. What had he done to deserve the death he'd faced?

Angie didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to him. She'd fallen asleep in the car the night of the abduction and Derek had carried her into their apartment and put her to bed.

She must have been drugged, because when she awoke, the apartment had been practically destroyed and Derek was gone. Her house had been _violated._ She stayed with Tyler and Leslie, but not even their house felt safe. _Nowhere_ was safe.

Tyler stood beside her in Naomi's office at CIFM, staring down at the brunette's broken body. Angie glanced up at Tyler silently. The former Death Doctor balled his fists and shook with rage. How could anyone do such a heinous thing to such a great man? Tyler grit his teeth. Leslie put her hand on his shoulder and he jumped.

"Ty, please. Not in front of Angie. I feel the same way," the nurse told him, her voice barely above a whisper. "How someone could do this to him... it's unbelievable."

"It's _unfor-fucking-givable,_" he spat, "That's what it is." Angie watched Tyler cautiously. She could hardly look at Derek's remains, whereas Tyler was staring them down. His eyes full of curious interest. Calculating, curious interest. Leslie found herself staring at Tyler as well. The blonde doctor seemed to pace around the table, his eyes never once leaving the body. "...I have a call to make."

Leslie frowned deeply, watching as Tyler stormed from the room with his cell phone up to his ear. He'd been making a lot of phone calls since he'd heard the news about Derek. He had gone through a drastic change from the lighthearted goof she'd grown to know and love into a phone call making, dark, death researcher. Leslie thought it had been the grief; Angie could hardly get out of bed when she first heard the news. But Tyler... Leslie had a feeling that Tyler was up to no good.

**Absolute** no good.

And she was scared.


	7. No Time

This one, I'm on the fence about. Eh. I had to do some research, but I got an actual surgeon's opinion on livejournal. Not so sure I got the terminology correct, so please forgive me. I hope you enjoy it more than I do! Theme 24, _No Time_.

* * *

Vibrations.

Consistent, silent vibrations. The familiar chill ran down her spine, but something was very, _very_ wrong.

She'd had to kick Angie, Leslie and Tyler out of her office and leave Alyssa with David as soon as she'd heard the news. She'd made it to the hospital in under five minutes. Naomi had to, somehow, talk him out of dying, but as soon as she'd run through the doors, she'd been stuck in the waiting room.

She clamped her hands around the phone and put her hands to her head. She couldn't answer it, but she had to admit... she was curious.

What would his final words have been?

The vibrating stopped.

"Miss Kimishima?" She jumped at her name. It was the surgeon, CR-S01 – his prisoner tag, since he couldn't remember his own name. "The operation was a success. It was a good thing Maria found him when she did."

She stood quickly, "How is he?"

"Mr. Navel is stable, he sustained some injuries to the bowels and damage to the aorta. The retro-peritoneal tissues tore which caused hemorrhaging into his abdomen."

"What happened to him?" CR-S01 frowned deeply,

"He was stabbed. The knife was fairly thin. He was lucky, but as I said before, still caused quite some damage." There was a small pause. "...Oh, you... probably want to see him, don't you? Go ahead in, I won't keep you." After thanking CR-S01 for saving her (literal) partner-in-crime, Naomi proceeded into Little Guy's private recovery room.

Little Guy was silent except for his shallow breaths. Naomi sat at his bedside and set her phone down on the nightstand. She stared. Who could have tried to _kill_ Little Guy? She brushed some stray hair away from his face. His skin was pale. He was slightly cold.

"He should wake up in a little bit." CR-S01 backed out of the room, "Please call me if something happens." Naomi had to play the waiting game.

She hated the waiting game. Especially when she was waiting for something important. The blonde agent stirred, grasping at his bedsheets. "Dr. Kimishima..." he repeated her name, his voice was small and weak.

"Little Guy?" She took his free hand and held it tightly. "Little Guy? Can you hear me?" He stared up at her blankly.

"Dr. Kimi-" he gasped, the lively fire returning to his eyes, "Dr. Kimishima – I know who... that old lady... oh shit! My analysis!"

"I'm right here, okay? Calm down. It's taken care of." Naomi tried to hold in her fear so Little Guy wouldn't get worked up and injure himself further, but analysis aside, what was he talking about? What old woman? Who on Earth was stupid enough to try and kill and FBI agent? An anger burned in her chest. Naomi couldn't help but think she needed to investigate the scene of the attack. "Little Guy, I'll be back, so don't worry, okay?"

"Be safe, Naomi." His sounded awful, which only proved to make her blood boil. She vowed that she would find whoever injured him and bring them to justice in no time.

"I will, okay?" Little Guy stared at her retreating form, knowing somewhere in his drug riddled mind that she was lying.


	8. I Can't

Back to Navel and Naomi. I gave Navel the first name of Andrew, after my sweet, blind uncle. Also, I adore that name. :D Anyway, Theme 73, _I Can't_. Please enjoy!

* * *

After Maria had all but forced pain pills down his throat, Navel found himself, at long last, alone. He'd been waiting a long time for the moment he could actually say he was alone. What with so many doctors hovering over him, he couldn't exactly experiment with movement without getting yelled at.

He readied himself for the pain and began. He sat up, heaving heavy breaths as he finally made it into the sitting position without the help of the bed remote. Though it was a triumph in his mind, he still found himself to be frowning.

His frown was probably due to the tears that had begun to cloud his sight. _Man_, did his abdomen hurt. When were those pills supposed to kick in? Without giving the action serious thought, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, placed both feet onto the floor and attempted to stand.

A sound hit his ears and he paused. He was standing. But at what cost?

His throat hurt terribly, had that sound come from his throat? He touched his hand to his face. When had he started crying? It was probably when he stood up. He had to keep going. The more he pushed himself, the more he'd be able to do. Shakily, he picked up his right foot. He began to tip toward one side, so he quickly placed it in front of him.

_That's it, Drew. One foot in front of the other, _he cheered himself on internally as he kept walking. He made it halfway toward the window when a voice from the hallway scared him. His knees buckled.

"_Little Guy, what are you doing_?" Naomi. She caught him before he fell. A sound hit his ears, a violent sound.

He'd screamed.

He barely even recognized his own voice. He caught a glimpse of Naomi's face, her expression was much akin to a kicked puppy. He moved his head away from her, cursing as his muscles dived into violent spasms. "Why did you get out of bed?" After the spasms died down, he inhaled deeply, nearly choking on his own breath.

"I had to," he replied hoarsely, "I've got a job to do, Dr. Kimishima. I can't just stay in bed!"

"Your job, Agent Navel, is to rest and recuperate. Your replacement is doing an adequate job for now and-"

"I can't just sit around! I don't care how my replacement is doing - we're a team, Naomi!" he replied, desperately, "Hey, come on... I'm your _Little_ _Guy!_ Did you give my replacement a fun little nickname too? _**Argh**__!_ I can't stand this damn hospital and I'm not going to let some... damn..._** probie**_ take_ my _place as_ your _**whipping ****boy!"** Naomi raised an eyebrow. Navel felt the heat rise into his cheeks. He quickly averted his gaze. "...Maria came in here and gave me some oxycodone. Don't pay attention to me, I'm high as a kite."

"Also, your _replacement_? She's a woman." Navel felt like an idiot.

"...Seriously?" She smiled, nodding quietly. "I can't believe how stupid I am." Navel groaned and Naomi helped in back into bed.

"Easy now, Little Guy," she replied, a chuckle leaving her lips. He couldn't bring himself to look at her out of sheer embarrassment. She grabbed his face, turning his head toward her gently. She looked him dead in the eye. The heat rose to his face as she said the words, "I'm glad you're alright." Naomi, rather suddenly, felt sympathy for Angie as she whispered the words, _"I don't know what I'd do without you" _into Navel's ear.


End file.
